


Push Me Around

by trillingstar



Category: Oz (1997)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: 50kinkyways, Kink, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-18
Updated: 2009-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-05 13:04:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillingstar/pseuds/trillingstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toby roars; Chris wins.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Push Me Around

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Ozsaur](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ozsaur) and [La_tante](http://la-tante.livejournal.com).  
> 

  
Chris stares at Toby throughout the meal, watching him lick sauce from his fingers. They're out of paper towels, and the take-out barbeque is messy. After dinner, Chris crowds Toby, a hand on each of the arms of his chair, standing over him and leaning down to press soft, wet kisses against his neck. Toby hums contentedly, his fingers busy unbuttoning Chris's shirt.

"You said you'd think about it. What'd you decide?" Chris asks, brushing his knuckles against the button and zipper of Toby's jeans.

There's a breathless pause, and then Toby turns his head, looking away, pushing his palms against Chris's chest, making him back off. He levers himself up and collects the takeout cartons, slipping past Chris silently.

Chris follows Toby into the kitchen, carrying their dirty dishes from the table. "Why not?"

"What are you talking about, why no- Oh. Chris, I told you before, I don't want to do that." Toby puts the stopper in the sink, turns the faucets on, and then adds soap to the running water. He lifts his wrists up, and Chris puts the dishes on the counter, wipes his hands on his jeans, unbuttons Toby's cuffs and pushes up his sleeves. Toby's expression softens as he watches Chris.

"Why not?" Chris asks again, his expression open.

Toby makes an exasperated noise. "I just don't! I, I don't feel comfortable." He plunges his hands into the soapy water.

"_You_ don't feel comfortable? Toby, you've got your tongue in my ass practically once a day." Chris ticks items off his fingers. "We've fucked on your parents' back lawn, while they were playing tennis fifty yards away, you liked it that time we used the-"

"Enough!" Toby interrupts. "Look, I had a long day. Can we just drop it?"

Chris nods. "Okay," he says, casually. "Consider it dropped." He kisses the back of Toby's neck, then leans close for a one-armed squeeze of reassurance.  
  
~  
  
On Saturday afternoon, they lie on a blanket in the hammock together. The sun's high in the sky, speckling their skin with flickers of light filtered through the branches. Chris has his arm draped around Toby's shoulders, and he's lightly tracing patterns on Toby's bare upper arm with the back of his fingernails. Toby uses the ski pole to push them into a swing. He sighs happily.

"What part makes you uncomfortable?" Chris asks, stroking his fingers across the back of Toby's hand.

Toby tenses, then relaxes. "I thought we were dropping this."

"I wanna know, Tobe, why's it such a big deal for you?"

"You make it sound as if I was traumatized as a child."

"Were you?" Chris asks, then shrugs one shoulder. "Just want to know why you won't do this for me."

Toby sits up, unbalancing the hammock, which tilts dangerously to one side. "And I'd like to know why you won't take no for an answer!" He thumps Chris's chest with the heel of his hand. "I said I didn't want to, so why are you pushing?"

"I think you'll like it," Chris answers. "I know I will."

The motion of the hammock rolls Toby to the ground. Standing up, he glares at Chris. "You're a dick sometimes."

Chris stares at him.

Toby swipes his hand across his forehead, pushing back his hair, and then turns and stalks off.  
  
~  
  
To Toby's relief, Chris doesn't mention it on Sunday, and then he realizes that it doesn't matter, because now he's thinking about it without any prompting. He's still sure that it's not something he feels comfortable with, but he does wonder, briefly, how Chris might look with– He shakes his head. It's not for him. Chris will get over it.  
  
~  
  
Toby pushes the door open and calls out, "I'm home!" He hears the music Chris likes when he works out, but the door to the basement gym is closed; the music's coming from their bedroom. He drops his coat on the back of the couch and toes off his shoes, then investigates. The music's loud, and it's a relief to turn off the stereo. Chris's discarded shirt, shorts and socks form a trail to the bathroom.

He can see Chris in the shower, his muscular form blurred by the pebbled glass door. Toby slides the partition open and watches Chris soaping his chest. Bubbles and lather already cling to his arms and sides. Chris grins at him, then reaches down and shakes his cock at Toby, his mouth falling slack and his gaze turning darker, more intense. Toby leers back. A shower with Chris sounds like heaven.

"I'm coming in," he announces.

Chris shakes his head. "I'm coming out."

Toby frowns, but Chris is already rinsing and turning off the taps, so Toby leaves the shower door open while he returns to the bedroom to shed his clothes. He's unsnapping his cufflinks when Chris attacks him from behind, wrapping his arms around Toby, and helping to unbutton his shirt. Chris's skin is warm from the shower, and water drips down his arms onto Toby's chest, soaking through the material. They work hurriedly to get the shirt open, and Chris murmurs in appreciation when Toby turns to face him. Chris's mouth is hot and slick, and their kiss is gentle for a moment until Toby plunges his tongue inside, groaning. He chases after another kiss when Chris pulls back, breaking their connection.

Chris touches his lips back to Toby's briefly, feather light, then whispers, "Please, Toby? I want it, I want you to do it."

Toby's cheeks burn red so quickly that he feels dizzy. He pushes Chris away, hard, and Chris stumbles backward, a look of confused vulnerability on his face.

Toby points a finger at him. He's breathless from their kiss, his thoughts jumbled, and flat-out pissed that Chris is bringing this up again. "You never know when to quit! Goddamn it, why won't you fucking listen to me, you bastard. You have to keep pushing and pushing, until you get what _you_ want."

Chris sits down heavily on the bed, and Toby advances, his face red, shirt unbuttoned. "Fuck! You want it, you got it. On your knees, now!" he roars. Before Toby finishes the command, Chris is tucking his arms under his head and spreading his legs, knees firm on the mattress.

Toby strips out of his shirt. He dries his hands on his undershirt and storms forward. The first slap on Chris's ass is too light, so he digs his fingernails in while dragging his hand away. Chris's mouth opens and his eyes squeeze shut.

Toby slaps him again, harder. "Don't you fucking close your eyes, asshole! You don't get to leave for this!" Toby curves his hand, and there's a satisfying noise when it connects with Chris's flesh.

"You push, and push, and it doesn't matter what I think because it's all about you, all about what you want, right, Chris?" He's yelling, and he smacks each cheek repeatedly, alternating, watching Chris move his weight from elbow to elbow. He notices how Chris's back rises and falls in quick breaths, and that he's not trying to get away from Toby's heavy hand.

"Remember-" Crack. "You-" Crack. "Made me do it. You and your-" Crack. "Goddamned lippy mouth. You did this."

He switches hands, adjusting, watching Chris's face and how he's panting, watching the skin of Chris's ass turn rosy. "Is this what you wanted, huh? Is it? _Is it_?" He delivers an even harder swat to the back of Chris's thigh, and Chris finally makes a noise – he moans, widening his stance on the bed. His balls hang heavy between muscular thighs. Toby wants to bury his face in Chris's ass and use his tongue to make Chris come.

He's livid at the thought, and then shocked and furious when he realizes that what he's doing with his hands isn't enough. Looking around wildly, he sees a dark leather belt curled on the nightstand, the metal buckle a muted gleam in the lamplight. He steps back from Chris, shaking his head. He's close to losing it completely.

Stepping deliberately into Chris's line of sight, he rests his hand on the belt. "Did you put this here?" Toby's voice is low and dangerous.

Chris groans and licks his lips.

Toby reaches and slaps. "Answer me!"

Chris doesn't speak. He turns his head, meeting Toby's gaze. Toby picks up the belt and steps back behind Chris. He's shaking, enraged, his frustration and anger brought to the surface. Doubling the belt in his fist, he hauls off and cracks the strap across Chris's ass.

Chris grunts loudly, but he doesn't flinch away from the blow, so Toby does it again, shouting, "Is that what you want?" He slaps the belt down again, lighter this time, smacking once against each cheek, and then he stops to admire the shade of color he's created on Chris's skin. He strikes two more times with more strength, and then pauses, watching Chris heave his way through several gasping breaths, his shoulders shaking.

The hardest hit yet causes Chris to yell out, and Toby stops immediately; Chris groans, low in his throat, and his hips pitch forward as if seeking friction.

"Stop that," Toby orders, and Chris's body goes rigid.

Dropping the belt on the floor, Toby stares at Chris: his ass is red and warm to his touch, the heat fizzing through Toby's fingers when he clutches at it. He runs both hands down from the base of Chris's spine to the backs of his knees and up again, massaging and stroking, hyper-aware of the fact that he's the one who's done this to Chris, no matter what he said at the start.

"Don't move," he whispers. Licking his index finger, he slides it into Chris, working it in and out a few times, watching Chris struggle not to move.

Toby slips his other hand down to Chris's balls, cupping and rolling them in his palm, thumb trailing over the softest skin on his body. Chris's breath rushes out of his lungs and he groans, a long continuous noise. Toby slides his finger out and slaps his hand against one cheek; Chris sucks in a jarring breath and rasps, "Fuck, just fuck me, Toby."

Suddenly, Toby hears himself panting, and he's hard in his trousers. He presses his clothed groin to Chris's backside, and they both stop breathing for a moment. Toby's arms shake as he takes hold of Chris's hips. He feels powerful and disoriented at the same time, and wishes he could pause the moment to get a handle on the situation.

Moving away, he leans over the bed and grabs Chris's arm, pulling him up forcefully, ignoring the soft, needy noises Chris makes at the rough treatment. Toby refuses to look at his face. He pushes Chris into the corner, shoving him toward the wall, making Chris brace himself with his hands and arms. Toby kicks Chris's legs further apart and rakes his eyes down Chris's back, watching the muscles tightening and shifting. Cupping one asscheek lightly, Toby feels the warmth of Chris's skin against his hand, only it's not as hot as before, and Toby wants to heat it up again.

Then he's standing by the bed, staring with disbelief at the belt gripped tightly in his hand. Throwing it onto the floor, he strides out of the bedroom and straight into the kitchen. He flings open the freezer door and sticks his head in, the icy rush chilling his face, but it's not enough. Taking a pitcher from the refrigerator, he gulps cold water directly from the container, then presses the cool plastic against his forehead. He feels as if he's burning up.

He breathes deeply, attempting to slow his racing heartbeat. He presses his hand against his erection, willing himself to calm down. He stays in the kitchen for several minutes, wondering when Chris will appear, speculating about what he'll say. Finally, he puts the water back in the fridge and returns to the bedroom.

Chris is still standing in the corner, hands flat against the wallpaper, legs spread and cock hard, his cherry red ass stuck out invitingly. A fine tremor courses over his body every few seconds, and his jaw's set like when he's about five touches from orgasm.

Chris is waiting for Toby.

Knowing Chris stayed just how Toby left him– Toby groans. He's so turned on he can't think clearly. He strips off his pants and boxers as he fumbles his way to the nightstand. Grabbing the lube, he slicks himself up as he hurries back to Chris. Toby gropes Chris's ass with one hand, feeling him quiver, and then spreads his cheeks, and shoves his cock inside. He's never heard Chris make that sound at that volume before, and he pulls out slowly, then drills back in as hard as he can. Chris submits completely, his chin dropping down, and Toby slams his whole body against Chris, forcing him to bear their combined weight on his arms. The muscles in Chris's arms flex and strain with the impact, which makes Toby want to fuck him harder. All the heat in the room is centered between his legs and Chris's ass, which is still warm from the spanking.

A spanking that he administered, and the thought makes Toby frantic, desperate to take all that Chris can give. He can't keep his hands off Chris's ass, his fingers sliding because of the lube. Chris makes noises that Toby wants to listen to every day, and if this is what it takes, he might, he might– Chris's skin is so hot against his own, and when Toby thrusts, Chris gives him everything, fucking back, pushing against Toby desperately. Toby slaps Chris's ass a few more times, and Chris cries out at each hit, like it's not enough when it really should be too much.

Toby grabs hold of Chris's hips and pounds into him, hips bucking forward. Leaning, he licks a stripe up Chris's back; he tastes like salt and soap, so Toby does it again and Chris grunts, the vibration rumbling in Toby's ears. Sliding his arms up Chris's sides and across his chest, Toby latches onto his shoulders, pulling Chris down onto his cock, fucking into him wildly. He feels feral, a snarl tugging at his lips and exposing his teeth. He's incapable of forming a single rational thought, and everything comes to him as sensation: hot, tight, deep, a primal urge of want. Take. _Own_. He's nearly hyperventilating. He's pushing, pulling and clawing at Chris, hugging him tightly, possessing, and then he's yelling loudly, biting Chris's neck as he comes. Reaching, he twists a nipple savagely, grinding into Chris, and Chris shouts something unintelligible and shoots all over the wallpaper.

Long after Chris is barely holding himself up, Toby drifts back from his semi-conscious state. He disentangles his arms from around Chris's waist and peels Chris's hands from the wall. They collapse slowly, sweat drying between them and Toby's cock still inside. Every few seconds, Chris shivers, and finally he stretches, groaning.

His eyes shine with satisfaction when he looks at Toby. "See?" He slurs. "I knew you wanted to."

"Shut up," Toby mumbles.

They lie on the floor in silence for a few minutes.

"Jesus fuck, that was good," Toby whispers.

Chris smiles smugly. "Knew it."

Toby smoothes his palm down Chris's side, watching goose bumps break out on Chris's skin. He feels blissful, as though he's discovering the lines and planes of Chris's body for the first time, reveling in the power of making them both _fly_. It's a phenomenal feeling.

"Love it when I make you lose control," Chris says. "Turn me on. Always want more of you."

Toby nestles his face in the crook of Chris's shoulder. Tenderly, he kisses the spot where he bit down earlier. "You're still a dick sometimes."

"Yeah," Chris agrees contentedly.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for prompt 20: standing in corner at 50kinkyways (on LJ).  
> 


End file.
